


A Life Lost

by YanzaDracan



Category: Actor RPF, Kane (Band), Leverage RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Child Abuse, Drama, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Underage, M/M, Partner Betrayal, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-13
Updated: 2012-07-13
Packaged: 2017-11-09 21:37:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/458720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YanzaDracan/pseuds/YanzaDracan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He really needed to listen to his lawyer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Life Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: These individuals belong only to themselves and their portrayals here are strictly for the entertainment of me and mine and not for profit. It’s FICTION!

This was one of his favorite times of the day. It would be two hours before the staff began preparations for opening, and four hours until the lunch rush. He’d just returned from the wholesalers where he’d ordered the extras for their dinner specials along with the restaurant’s regular order.

The only sounds were the compressors behind the bar and the air conditioning. He breathed in deep and let it out feeling his tension leave with the breath.

The past five years had been two thirds nightmare, and one third dream come true, but he had made it. Yesterday had been their second anniversary, and business was better than ever. He had an established clientele, and an elite catering service.

_**~ Five Years Ago ~  
** _

After the rush of culinary school, he’d used part of his trust fund from his grandparents to open a restaurant in Los Angeles with his classmate/lover. Though they’d graduated together, he was the one gifted in the kitchen, while Charlie was the PR whiz. He thought they had the perfect partnership, and for two years they did.

Until the day he’d come home early from the market thinking he’d surprise Charlie. He’d been talking to his best friend, Jensen on the phone when he walked in their loft to find HIS lover fucking some woman on THEIR couch.

When he’d yelled, hurt, angry, his heart bleeding out on their hardwood floor, Charlie had proceeded to tell him in graphic detail what an idiot he’d been. How’d he’d only been with him for the money from his trust fund, but now he’d found true love, how he was out because he’d trusted Charlie when they started their business and bought the condo, and since they only had a verbal agreement, he was taking over the restaurant and if he wanted to stay in the condo, he’d write him a check for half it’s worth or Charlie would sue him.

While he talked, Charlie and the woman got dressed said they’d be back in two hours, and to leave a check on the bar when he left.

When the shock wore off and the numbness set in, his first reaction was to call his best friend, but when he lifted his hand, he saw the line was still open. When he found his voice, all Jensen said was he’d take care of him. That was the advantage of his best friend also being his attorney. They packed his clothes, mementos and his kitchen into their two vehicles then settled to wait for Charlie’s return.

When they pulled away from the loft, Charlie’s girlfriend had had to wake her rich daddy for the cash to buy him out of the restaurant and condo, pay his attorney’s fees, plus a little extra to keep them from filing criminal charges for fraud and extortion.

A week later, the two men fed up with their lives in Los Angeles, got in their vehicles and headed east. They’d stopped in Las Vegas to visit a musician friend and his wife, and never left.

They’d taken the money that signified the end of their old life and used it to start their new life in Las Vegas beginning with buying a two story house in Spring Valley. He took the ground floor, and Jensen took the top floor, and they shared the common rooms. Thus the Steve Carlson/Jensen Ackles household was established.

Already licensed to practice in Nevada, Jensen was researching law firms while he drug him to every vacant space between their house and the interstate looking for the perfect setting for his new restaurant.

Finally, about a mile from their home, he found the perfect place. The interior looked like it hadn’t been touched since the forties. Wood, brass and brick made for an intimate feel though the space was wide open. There was even a space between the bar and the dining area for someone to perform and be heard by both the bar and the diners without being intrusive. The bar was a buffer from the noise of the kitchen. He stood in the middle of the space knowing it couldn’t be more perfect if he’d designed it himself.

_**~ Now ~** _

He shook himself from his memories. He’d bought the whole building, and instead of going to work for some firm, Jensen had set up an office in the space that remained. Darren had helped Jensen get started by becoming a client and recommending him to his artists when they needed representation. His practice had grown to include a hellcat for an office manager, Traci Dinwiddie and a paralegal, Alona Tal, who guarded Jensen’s office with a ferocity that both scared and relieved him as his friend’s pretty face tended to draw unwelcomed attention.

He knew Jensen could take care of himself, but it was always fun to watch the ladies in action. The fact that they tended to also rule his life was not lost of him. A fond smile was still in place when he heard a knock at the front door.

He knew it couldn’t be Jensen—he would have come through the door that connected their two offices. Though it was as discrete as all the signage for _Days Behind_ , their hours were painted on the window so he was cautious when he unlocked the door.

Standing far enough back, so as to not appear to be a threat, stood a man in a battered cowboy hat holding a beat up guitar case. Button down western shirt over a t-shirt, jeans and boots was what he saw until he looked in the man’s face. Rugged, day’s worth of stubble, soul patch under full lips, and blue eyes that seemed to look straight through him.

His body instantly jumped to attention at the broad shoulders and narrow hips that were attached to the handsome face shaded from the desert sun. Quashing his libido under the scars Charlie had left behind, his voice was harsher than he usually used with total strangers.

“We’re closed.”He said bluntly.

“I can read.” The cowboy snapped. “Not interested in eatin’ in yer fancy pants joint, just lookin’ for a job.”

“Doing what?” Part of him cringed at the way he was treating the man, but the part protecting him against his attraction was being snotty.

“Not picky. I kin do anything from cook to entertain’ yer guests.” He saw the hand tighten around the handle of the guitar case.

“Where’d you get your training?”

“Family business.” The cowboy’s tone was a surly growl, which once again sent the blood rushing through his veins, making him lightheaded.

The silence stretched between them. He broke first.

“That’s it?”

The stranger shrugged. “We don’t associate anymore.”

He rolled the idea around. He’d just lost his kitchen hand for the early shift and he had yet to replace his last musician since the woman had run off to play at one of the clubs on the Strip. He’d just opened his mouth when that voice interrupted him.

“Needs to be off the books.”

“What!” He looked around. “The cops after you?”

“NO!” He glared. “Just tryin’ ta stay on the down low.”

His cynical mind jumped into the fray at those words. He could get everything he wanted in one handsome package, no strings attached. A man not wanting to found was just what he needed. He made a decision.

“We’ll give it a try. Kitchen hand 9 to 2. I’ll pay you $500 a week. Singing for the patrons, 9 to midnight ... For tips.” He smirked almost daring him to argue.

Blue fire lit the expressive eyes before the fire was banked and the eyes went to a flat grey.

“Whatever ya say, Boss.” He drew a deep breath and let it out. “When ya want me ta start?”

He looked at his watch. “Now.”

He could see the muscles pop in the chiseled jaw. “Fine.”

He stuck his hand out. “Steve Carlson.”

The other man took the hand begrudgingly. “Chris … Hart.”

Lightning ran up his arm when their hands met. He fought to keep his composure, and dropped the hand like he’d been burnt. In the two years since Los Angeles, there’d only been one night stands. No one had affected him like this man. Though Jensen often chided him for his attitude, the younger man was just as bad except Jensen’s lovers usually left with a smile, and his just left.

“Follow me.” He led the other man into the restaurant. “Put your guitar over there.” He pointed to the stool and microphone.

They continued to the kitchen. “The restaurant’s closed Sundays, but I also have a catering crew. You want some extra money you can work if they need extra help.” Chris kept his mouth shut as he walked through the kitchen. He pointed to the wall by the freezer. “Pick an empty locker and lose the hat.”

When Chris returned, his hair was in a neat ponytail, a bandana holding the hair back from his face. Before he could start on the next set of instructions he heard a truck at the delivery door.

Truck unloaded, he set Chris to prepping for lunch while he wrote up an exact list of what and how he wanted things done. As the rest of the crew came in, he made quick introductions as they got ready for their lunch rush.

In the lull between nine and ten he did a walk-through of the restaurant. He knew Jensen was going to be in court most of the day so it didn’t worry him that he hadn’t heard from him, but he was surprised to see him at the bar watching Chris as he played. The man had pulled so far back into the dark corner it was as though the music erupted magically from the shadows. If what he could see in the giant brandy snifter was any indication, the patrons enjoyed the titillation.

“Where’ve you been?” He asked sharply.

Green eyes glowed in the candlelight, but he ignored the tone. “Where’d you find short, dark and handsome?”

“On my doorstep looking for a job.”

“You gave him the right one.”

“Oh that’s just his night job. He’s my new kitchen hand. Said his name is Chris Hart. I’m paying him under the table.” Steve took a sip of Jensen’s Gentleman Jack.

“Steve!” Jensen practically hissed.

“What said he needed a job on the down low.”

“Law problems?”

“Says not. He works hard, keeps his mouth shut, and seems to know his way around a commercial kitchen.”

He could feel Jensen’s eyes on him as he continued to watch Chris. He heard Jensen say something. “I’ve got some specials left, right up your alley.” He heard Jensen laugh.

“What?”

“You didn’t hear a word I said. What’s really going on here, Steve?”

“Nothing.” He glared at his house mate. “I can appreciate a fine specimen of manhood without ‘something’ going on.”

Jensen snorted in his drink. “One of these days you’re gonna regret treating all your guys like shit. You might just throw ‘Mr. Right’ away.”

“Yeah well at least he won’t have sucked my bank account dry before I do.”

“Damn it Steve, you’ve got to let this thing with Charlie go. It’s been two years. How long are you gonna drag that ball and chain around?”

“You’re too pretty to be such a nag and too young to be my mother.” He sneered.

“Fuck you, Carlson.” Jensen threw a twenty on the bar and slid off his stool.

He walked over to Chris and said a few words before dropping a bill in the jar. Without a backward glance Jensen left.

He felt guilty as he watched the man who’d been closer to him than his own brother stalk out the door. Though most of Jensen’s practice was contract law for a bevy of singer songwriters as well as being on retainer for their friend, Darren’s studio, _The Sound Parlor_ , he also handled divorces and the occasional criminal or civil case.

One of those cases he was working on now. He knew stress plus Jensen equaled little sleep and even less food. Jensen had obviously worked late and now his pissy mood over the way Chris made him feel had chased Jensen off without dinner. With a sigh he made a round of the dining room talking to the patrons, the sound of Chris’ voice dancing along his nerves, soothing him. He headed back to the kitchen.

He knew Jensen was already gone the next morning when he found a fresh pot of coffee waiting. He shook off his guilt and started his day.

Chris was talking quietly with Jensen as the lawyer smoked a cigarette. When they saw him pull into the lot, Chris handed Jensen his coffee cup and moved to wait patiently by the door. Jensen nodded briefly before heading back to his office.

A quiet _‘mornin’_ was all Chris said as he got to the back just in time to unload the truck.

Things settled into a routine. The patrons enjoyed the music enough to make an up-tic in his business, and Chris handled the volatile personalities in the kitchen with the same quiet stubbornness he’d witnessed that first day. The man never yelled though he had been heard to quietly cuss a blue streak on occasion.

A month after he’d been hired, Steve came out of his room one morning to find Chris and Jensen talking quietly at the kitchen table. He felt a streak of heat shoot down his spine at the sight of the two beautiful men.

“That didn’t take long.” He sneered as he poured a cup of coffee.

When he turned back, Chris looked confused and Jensen’s eyes were golden with anger.

“Chris, meet me at the car. I need a word with Mr. I’MNOTAMORNINGPERSON.” Jensen grinned at Chris. “I’ll only be a minute.”

“No hurry.” He waited until he heard the door close behind the dark haired man.

Jensen turned to pick the household checkbook off the table.

“Is he as hot in the sack as he looks?”His voice still held its sneer.

He took a step back when he looked at Jensen’s face. It’d been a long time since he’d seen his friend this angry.

“If you ever bothered to talk to me or read any of the notes I leave in the checkbook...” He slammed it down next to him. “You’d know Chris is renting the apartment over the garage, not sleeping in my bed.”

He watched stunned as Jensen slammed out of the house.

Hating to be at loggerheads with Jensen, he checked the lawyer’s schedule with Traci because he wanted to bring him lunch as an apology. Traci’s glare spoke volumes.

“Just quit bustin’ my balls over this, man. He’s a nice guy. If he revs your engine, ask him out.” Jensen snapped.

He thought about Jensen’s words the rest of the afternoon. Maybe that was the solution. A night or two with Chris in his bed should end his hyper-awareness of the man once and for all.

He started slow. After all Chris wouldn’t believe him if he became overly friendly all of a sudden. At first Chris was confused at the overtures, but like coaxing a feral cat onto the porch, he was slowly able to coax Chris to his side.

At first Jensen was happy to see his oldest friend and his newest friend getting along, but worry about Chris had him saying something.

“Good to see you taking time to get to know Chris.”

“You were right. We have a lot more in common than I thought.” He wouldn’t look at Jensen, but Jensen was gathering papers off the table and stuffing them in his briefcase so didn’t notice his avoidance.

He came out of his room one Sunday morning to find Jensen and Chris sprawled in the living room amid papers, guitars and beer bottles. He felt his stomach clench in a feeling he recognized as jealousy. This was something he couldn’t share with the men who were quickly becoming the two most important people in his life.

He brought two cups of coffee and set them within their reach before gently shaking Chris. Blue eyes full of fear flew open as he flinched back from the hand. Confused he tried to soothe the startled man.

“Chris, it just me. You’re in the living room. It’s okay.”

Chris rubbed his hands over his face. “Sorry.” He started to move. “Damn. Gittin’ too old to be sleepin’ on the floor.” He grinned sheepishly.

He reached down and offered him a hand up then pulled him in for a brief kiss before letting him go. He left Chris wide-eyed as he headed to the kitchen for his own cup of coffee.

When he turned back Chris and Jensen were gathering up their papers talking quietly. He felt that clench again. His attention was pulled back when he heard Jensen.

“I’m off for a shower. I’ll take care of those papers.” He winked at Chris.

He looked at Chris.

“For my songs and stuff.” Chris snapped the latches on his guitar case. “Who’s cookin’.” He grinned.

“Anyone who’s not Jensen.” They shared a companionable laugh as they headed for the kitchen.

Jensen was conspicuously absent as they spent a quiet day together talking, watching movies, cuddling on the big couch. He looked at the man dozing in his arms and warmth began spreading through his chest. A warmth that scared him. This was about getting this man out of his system, not having him burrow under his barriers to make a home in his heart. He reminded himself he didn’t even know if Chris Hart was his real name. He was hiding from something or someone.

He wondered if he asked if Chris would tell him. He’d obviously told Jensen something since Jensen was doing legal work for him, but he knew Jensen never gossiped about clients. Attorney client privilege was something he took very seriously. He ignored his conscious, ignored his heart, closed his eyes, and enjoyed the feel of the heavy body against his side.

That night as he led Chris to his room … His bed, he squashed the voice in his head like an annoying gnat and let his body enjoy the planes and angles of the muscular body that covered him. It was as though Chris knew him, knew his body, knew when to be rough and aggressive, and just when he was about to tip over the edge, Chris turned tender until all he could do was to surrender to the demands of his body and give up his control to Chris.

They’d been lovers for a month when Jensen brought an envelope to the restaurant and waited while Chris read through the papers. His curiosity ran rampant as he watched the play of emotions cross Chris’ face. When he finished, Chris looked at Jensen with such a soft look of happiness and caring it took his breath. Chris laid a hand on Jensen’s arm and looked at him with eyes brilliant with the sparkle of tears.

“Thanks, man. I couldn’t have done this without you. Other than Steve, you and Darren have been the best thing that’s happened to me in Vegas.” He handed the envelope back to Jensen after he’d signed the papers.

Chris turned to face him. “After work, I have something I need to tell you.”

Still dumbfounded by Chris’ earlier words, all he could do was nod.

When he got home, Chris and Jensen were sitting at the table with a beer, piles of papers with blue legal covers scattered over the table.

“I’ll let you know after.” He heard Chris say.

Jensen gathered the papers, and with a warning glance at him he picked up his beer. “I’ll talk to you later.” He patted Chris on the shoulder as he headed up the stairs to his rooms.

Grabbing two fresh beers, he took Jensen’s place at the table.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” He asked as he leaned over for a kiss.

Chris took a breath as though preparing for battle.

“Everything.” He took another breath. “Starting with ‘I love you.’” He paused. “As you probably guessed, my real name is not Chris Hart. The Harts are kin, but that’s another story.” Chris took his hand like it was a lifeline. “My name is Christian Kane. I came to Las Vegas to get away from the fightin’ when my adoptive mama died.”

Chris stopped when his voice broke. It took several minutes for him to regain his composure. A feeling of dread and anxiety started in his chest at the word love.

“My parents were killed when I was 12 and my sister was 16. We were hurt pretty bad, but mama and daddy died. My daddy’s kin, The Harts, took my sister, but with her rehab and all they couldn’t handle both of us. I was recuperatin’, but I was pissed at God and the world so they put me in foster care, and we know how many people want a 12 year old who’s acting out.” Chris’ tone was sour.

He was still rolling the name ‘Christian Kane’ around in his head while he listened to Chris’ story.

“I was on my third foster home ... Good God fearin’ people my social worker said who thought way to cure the grief of a 12 year old was to beat it out of him.”

He’d wondered at the ridges and lines he had only ever felt. Chris always kept his back turned away from him when he didn’t have a shirt on.

“I was startin’ to heal when I heard ‘em talkin’ about the next ‘step’. I packed my clothes and ran. In a story told a thousand times, I soon learned the only thing more horrifying than my beatin’s in a foster home was bein’ a kid on the streets of Nashville. A bunch of us were dumpster divin’ the restaurants along ‘Music Row’ when this guy snatched me out of the dumpster and yelled he was callin’ the cops. Everyone ran.”Chris paused again, taking a drink of his beer, his face pale and hands shaking. His long dark hair shielded his face.

“He told me he wouldn’t call the cops if … If I gave him a blow job …’Cause I had such a pretty mouth.”

He remembered all the times he’d said those exact words to Chris. He’d thought the trembling and hesitation was because Chris was turned on, not fighting flashbacks. He turned his attention back to Chris … Christian.

“I wasn’t all that big at 12. He had a hold of my neck, pushin’ me to my knees. I could hear him pullin’ down the zipper when there was this shout, and the biggest blackest woman I had ever seen in my entire life snatches me away from the man with one hand while she’s grabbin’ this guy by the ear and twistin’. He’s cussin’ and yellin’. She’s yellin’ and I’m scared out of my mind. Next thing I know I’m sittin’ in an office tucked up against her and she’s raisin’ holy hell with anyone who cared to listen. My case worker showed up to take me ‘back’. Miss Minnie told her that I was stayin’ with her. God give me to her to keep safe and if that social worker knew what was good for her she’d be bringin’ paperwork to sign.”

When Christian looked up tears ran down his cheeks. He reached out to wipe them away.

“I loved that woman.” Christian’s voice was a bare whisper. “I couldn’t have loved her anymore than if she’d give birth to me. Now I love you, too. I wish she was still livin’ so I could introduce you. She’d made fun of yer fancy cookin’. She’d say, _‘That’s no fittin’ food ta put meat on a man’s bones.’_ ”

He didn’t say anything, just gave Christian time to compose himself. Things were coming together in his mind. It was the names. Christian Kane, Miss Minnie, Nashville.

“You’re the street whore that stole Miss Minnie’s recipes?” He was horrified as the uncensored words fell out of his mouth. Then Charlie’s face flashed before his mind’s eye. “Is that why you’re fucking me?” His voice was loud, angry.

“STEVE!” Jensen’s voice sounded from the stairs.

The red cleared from his vision and he saw the damage his words had done.

The handsome face was pale, the blue eyes blank, leeched of color as Christian stared at him like he was the man in the alley molesting a 12 year old boy.

He stepped forward to try and repair the damage, but Christian back pedaled so fast the chair toppled. Christian started to fall, but Jensen was there to catch him. With a glare as hot as molten gold, Jensen led the trembling wreck of a man up the stairs.

The house was quiet when he got up the next morning. He hadn’t slept well, he missed waking with Christian wrapped around him. He got ready to go to the restaurant, telling himself he’d make something special for Jensen for lunch, see if he couldn’t start to repair the damage, maybe talk him into letting him see Christian. He knew from personal experience how protective Jensen could be of the people he cared about.

The connecting door to their offices remained locked so he went around the front of the office to talk to Traci. He found movers packing the office with the two women supervising. When Traci saw him the expression on her face nearly caused frostbite.

“If you’re looking to cause more trouble, you can leave. They’re not here.” She snapped.

“Oh. I thought I'd fix Jensen something special to make up for being a thoughtless jerk last night.” Not liking where his thoughts were going he pushed on. “When will he be coming in?”

“Never.” Alona came up to stand next to Traci.

“What do you mean never?” Fear started to build in his chest.

“As in ... We’re moving.” Traci planted her hands on her hips. “Got a call last night … Technically it was morning …  To pack the office and send it to Nashville.”

“NASHVILLE!”

“Yeah, said if we wanted we were welcome to come too.”

“Did Jensen say we were gonna be living in a whorehouse?” Alona asked. I didn’t quite get what he was growling.

“That wasn’t Jensen, it was Christian. He said, ‘If everyone was going to call him a whore, he might as well open the house and live down to their expectations.’” Traci quoted.

“That’s right. Just checking.” She started across the room. “Hey, watch it! That’s an original Charles Russell.”

He felt ill. When he was sure his stomach would stay in place he stopped inside the restaurant long enough to tell them he was leaving then rushed to his car and headed for home.

Pulling in the garage, he ran up to Christian’s apartment, which had been stripped. Next stop was Jensen’s part of the house. At first he felt relief when everything looked the same, but then he noticed all the stuff still there was things the decorator had picked when they remodeled the house. In the bedroom, the clothes, boxes of files, Jensen’s guitar and laptop were gone. Looking around the room he realized the room was as generic as any hotel. He spotted the picture frame face down on the dresser. Picking it up, he recognized the picture as the day they’d opened Jensen’s office and the restaurant. His legs gave out and he slid to the floor. They were gone … While he was sleeping, they had packed and left.

_**~ One Year Later ~  
** _

He sat alone at the bar, bottle of Gentleman Jack beside him as he silently toasted the anniversary of the biggest mistake of his life. Jensen had warned him every other day that if he didn’t let go—what happened with Charlie would come back to bite him in the ass. It did, and he lost what could have been the best thing that ever happened to him along with his best friend.

 _Days Behind_ was still successful, a Las Vegas icon in these days of theme park casinos. He’d gone to Darren to see about hiring a singer to replace Christian, but _The Sound Parlor_ had packed its tent and moved to ‘Music City’. He got satellite radio instead.

Christian Kane had become the hottest property in country music, his career guided by his lawyer, and if rumors were true, lover, Jensen Ackles, and Eric Griffin of _Brand X Management._ While they guarded Christian, _The Sound Parlor_ guarded his music, and just to keep things stirred up, Darren’s wife Rosalee was Christian’s backup singer and opening act.

A week after they’d left Las Vegas, it had been announced that Miss Minnie’s recipes had never been stolen—they’d only been in the process of being protected by every legal means Jensen could put them under to keep them from being stolen. Her restaurant had been reopened with the HIS former sous chef as the executive chef. Seems he’d been dating Traci, and followed her to Nashville. Miss Minnie’s biological children issued a formal apology to their adopted brother, and did their best to mend fences.

He looked up at the TV playing a recap of some awards show only to see Christian walking the red carpet, smiling, looking more handsome than ever in his dark blue shirt, black jacket and jeans, hair long over his shoulders. When he pushed his hair back silver flashed on his left hand as he talked to the interviewer. He looked through the crowd, and there as beautiful as ever, his former best friend, Jensen, silver flashing on his hand as it landed on the small of Christian’s back.

Smiling, he threw back the rest of his shot, glad the disaster he’d caused a year ago turned out good for everyone. He shut off the TV and walked around the bar to put the bottle back in its place when he heard the lock turn.

“Hey Babe, you done for the day? A deep voice called.

Jeffrey Morgan, was the lawyer who had taken over Jensen’s clients that stayed in Vegas, and separated out his and Jensen’s assets, strolled through the door and dropped a lingering kiss on his lips.

“Let’s go home.” He leaned into the taller man’s warmth.

They weren’t each others one true love, but maybe they’d get it right next time.

~ Fini ~


End file.
